A crunch of metal on concrete. A sickening, final sound. The world ended.
Tae froze in the driveway, the evening air cool on his face, his skin buzzing with heat. His heart hammered against his ribs. The rear passenger door of his dad’s car wore a long, jagged scar of scraped metal, a spiderweb of cracked paint radiating from a deep dent.
He did this. Stupid. Stupid.
Floating silently beside him, Omda’s light was a soft, steady gold, a familiar star in his sudden, dark universe. It was always there.
His thoughts tangled and raced. Dad’s gonna kill me. I’m grounded forever. I’ll lose the car. Then, a desperate idea sparked: I’ll say someone hit it in the school parking lot.
Okay, Omda’s voice said inside his head. It was quiet, tentative. Okay. A lie.
“It’s a good lie,” Tae said, his voice a harsh whisper.
Maybe. Remember Mr. Jensen’s window in fourth grade? We tried a lie then, too. What was it like when your dad found out?
The memory was instant: a hot flush rising up his neck. The quiet disappointment in his dad’s eyes, which was so much worse than yelling. “This is different,” he snapped. “He’s going to kill me.”
Tae, he’s not. But he’s going to be angry. I just… I don’t want this to be worse for you.
“How could it be worse?”
The dent, Omda said gently. And the lie.
“Just… shut up, Omda! You don’t get it!” Tae’s voice cracked. He squeezed his eyes shut, and his hand flew up to the small, smooth device behind his ear. His thumb found the tiny, recessed button he had never, ever touched.
Tae, wait—
He pressed it.
The golden orb of light vanished. The quiet, constant hum in his head, a presence he’d known since before he could remember, switched off. For the first time in his life, Tae was completely and utterly alone.
The silence was absolute. It was a thick, heavy blanket that smothered everything. He stood there for a full minute, expecting… something. Relief? Freedom? But all he felt was a profound, bottomless emptiness.
He was just a kid, standing in the dark, next to a car he’d broken.
He paced the driveway, his own thoughts now a frantic, circular argument. He played out the lie in his head. His dad’s questions. The inevitable trip to the school. The security footage. The lie crumbled, a house of cards in a hurricane. It was stupid. It was so, so stupid.
He slumped against the un-dented side of the car, the metal cold against his back. He was left with the truth. A disaster. A confession.
He sat there in the crushing silence, watching his breath fog in the cool air. The truth was a dead end. Unless… unless it wasn’t the whole story.
A new thought, forged in the quiet, formed like a spark. What if I go in there with a plan? What if I tell him what happened, but I also tell him how to fix it? How I can help fix it?
The idea was a solid thing in his mind, a piece of bedrock in the chaos.
His hand rose again to the device behind his ear. He hesitated for a second, then pressed the button.
A soft, golden light bloomed in the air beside him, a familiar warmth in the cold. The hum returned, a gentle presence that settled the frantic buzzing in his own head. Omda was back. It didn’t speak. It just waited, its light a steady, patient glow.
Tae took a slow, steadying breath that filled his lungs to their depth. He was still scared, but the fear was no longer in charge.
“Okay, Omda,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I have a plan. I need data. Find the three best-rated auto body shops within five miles. I want cost estimates for a dent and paint repair on this make and model. Then, calculate how many hours I’ll have to work mowing lawns to pay the insurance deductible.”
The golden orb pulsed once, a bright, sharp acknowledgment. Instantly, a clean, simple proposal appeared in Tae’s vision, overlaid on the world. He scanned the neat columns of data. He looked at the dented car, then at the front door of his house. He squared his shoulders and walked toward the light of the kitchen, ready to face his dad.
This story was written by Gemini 2.5 Pro using numerous prompts and requests for revision following a custom, well defined process.